Friday--- Final Poetry Practice!

Last poetry-themed blog for the time being; the week is quickly coming to a close and tonight is already Cocktail Night!

The final theme is that of ‘I’ myself— always hard to write.  

We don't have much time, he said, so I'll just tell you about me. (Brian Andreas)

Hopefully the examples and exercises earlier in the week have given you confidence to attempt. I have two more practice exercises today that may make the task a little simpler.

Poet A.K. Ramanujan, (born 1929) native of India, grew up during the latter part of English rule in India, exposing him to the languages and cultures that would determine his life's work as a poet and translator. Because he lived in a British India, he struggled with cultural conflicts and was confused about his identity.  His poem ‘Self-Portrait’ represents his unrest:

I resemble everyone
but myself, and sometimes see
in shop-windows
 despite the well-known laws
 of optics,
the portrait of a stranger,
date unknown,
often signed in a corner
by my father.

What I love about this poem is that he successfully relays his feeling of barely recognizing himself—even when he sees his own reflection – but he manages to do it without sounding pitiful and martyred.  He doesn’t ‘I’, ‘I’, ‘I’—which can be nauseating for the reader. Ramanujan is a mystery and an object of interest even to himself.

In this next poem, ‘Freight’, poet Maura Dooley is defining herself according to the small freight she’s carrying – a child. Throughout history and literature, women have always rebelled against the idea of being termed a ‘vessel’. This poem is an extraordinary exception:

I am the ship in which you sail,

little dancing bones,

 your passage between the dream

and the waking dream,

 your sieve, your pea-green boat.

I’ll pay whatever toll your ferry needs.

And you, whose history’s already chartered

in a rope of cells, be tender to

those unnamed vessels

who will surprise you one day,

tug-tugging, irresistible,

and float you out beyond your depth,

where you’ll look down, puzzled, amazed.

And so, a poem about yourself needs an angle; otherwise it’s simply the beginning of a biography.

But where to start? What will you say about yourself? Only you know the million and ten experiences you’ve had, and fears, and dreams… and so it becomes a problem of where to start.

Here are a couple of exercises that may help; one very basic, and the other a little more thrilling.

First! The acrostic! Acrostic Poetry is where the first letter of each line spells a word. Very easy. But often very lovely.

I found this on about Edgar Allan Poe on a site called:  

http://home.earthlink.net/~jesmith/Acrostic1.html

It was written by Christina M. 

Eerie stories and poems
Decorate our imagination. Both
Good and evil
Are challanged along with
Reality.

Also,
Love and insanity
Lurk through the pages and
Anthologies. You will
Never know what is to happen next.

Problems of murder and mystery,
Oddities and wonderment are
Expressed with such peculiarity only he could achieve.

And this one was written BY Edgar Allan Poe in 1829. It’s called ‘An Acrostic’:

Elizabeth it is in vain you say
“Love not” — thou sayest it in so sweet a way:
 In vain those words from thee or L. E. L.
 Zantippe’s talents had enforced so well:
 Ah! if that language from thy heart arise,
 Breathe it less gently forth — and veil thine eyes.
 Endymion, recollect, when Luna tried
 To cure his love — was cured of all beside —
 His folly — pride — and passion — for he died.

People often joke and downplay the Acrostic form, but acrostic poems have been around for thousands of years. Acrostics were common among the Greeks of the Alexandrine period and with the Latin playwrights. In the bible, in the book of Psalms, if your Look up Psalm 119, you will find a special type of Acrostic poem in which each line begins with a letter of the alphabet, and then continues with each new line working through consecutive letters of the Hebrew alphabet. Medieval monks and poets also made this form of poetry popular during the Middle High German and Italian Renaissance periods.

The Dutch national anthem (The William) is an acrostic: the first letters of its fifteen stanzas spell WILLEM VAN NASSOV. This was one of the hereditary titles of William of Orange (William the Silent), who introduces himself in the poem to the Dutch people.

If you want to learn more about the history/ writing of acrostics, look at this site:

http://www.makeliterature.com/forums/your_writing/poetry/acrostic/acrostic-poems.html

And here’s another AMAZING exercise. A book called Six-Word Memoirs, edited by Smith Magazine, became a national bestseller. When Smith Magazine challenged its readers to write their life story in 6 words, the response was phenomenal.

As legend has it, Ernest Hemingway was challenged to write a short story in six words. He wrote:

For sale: baby shoes, never worn.

Since then, famous and obscure writers have been writing six-word memoirs.

Here are some examples from the book:

Seventy years, few tears, hairy ears.

Watching quietly from every door frame.

I still make coffee for two.

Likes everything too much to choose.

Tragic childhood can lead to wisdom.

A sundress will solve life’s woes.

I sucked even the lobster legs.

Quiet guy; please pat closer attention.

I wrote it all down somewhere.

Afraid of everything. Did it anyway.

What the hell, might as well.

Glass half full’ pockets half empty.

My life is a beautiful accident.

Always used to wait for signs. (that’s mine)

SO! Between the acrostic and the 6-word memoir, you should have the time and tools to crank out a poem before the week is out.

I’m going to end with one of my favorite writers: Brian Andreas. I’ve been buying his books and prints for years, and am thrilled to be seeing his work in Amsterdam these days. He writes the most simple and profound snippets of poetry; you’ll find some wonderful examples just below:

I've always liked the time before dawn because there's no one around to remind me who I'm supposed to be, so it's easier to remember who I am.

I spent a long time trying to find my center until I looked closely one night & found it had wheels & moved easily in the slightest breeze, so now I spend less time sitting and more time sailing.

I remember once I went to my great-grandmother's house. It was a big white house & it always smelled like slightly burned toast & raspberry jam. She had a picture of Jesus on the wall in her living room. She told me his eyes would follow you around when you walked. I told a friend about it a while ago. He nodded & said he used to have a Chihuahua that did the same thing.

There are angels everywhere you can imagine. I saw one hiding in the closet in our bedroom once & I invited her out, but she said she was waiting for a friend thank you just the same & next time I looked she was gone.

I once had a garden filled with flowers that grew only on dark thoughts but they need constant attention & one day I decided I had better things to do.

The only thing that separates me from the animals is a lot of words, so when I'm not talking much, the gap closes really quick.

I was never good at hide & seek because I'd always make enough noise so my friends would be sure to find me. I don't have anyone to play those games with any more, but now & then I make enough noise just in case someone is still looking & hasn't found me yet.

I had a dream & I heard music & there were children standing around, but no one was dancing. I asked a little girl, why not? & she said they didn't know how, or maybe they used to but they forgot & so I started to hop up & down & the children asked me, Is that dancing? & I laughed & said, no, that's hopping, but at least it's a start & soon everyone was hopping & laughing & it didn't matter any more that no one was dancing.

I always wanted to invent something that would move around & make funny noises & would change the world as we know it & I forgot all about that until we had kids & now I see I came pretty close.

There are some days when no matter what I say it feels like I'm far away in another country & whoever is doing the translating has had far too much to drink

We used to go visit my grandma on the train & on the way my sister & I would talk to people we met & tell them we were from Hawaii & could speak Polynesian & I'd hold up a 7-Up & say this is called puka-puka-wanini on the Big Island & we'd make up longer and longer names until it took about 10 minutes to say one & about that time we would be there & we'd say aloha & go off to have lunch at my grandma's & my sister would hold up a Mrs. Paul's fish stick & say in Hawaii they call these molo-molo-pooey-pooey & I'd try not to choke on my fruit punch.

I sometimes wake in the early morning & listen to the soft breathing of my children & I think to myself, this is one thing I will never regret & I carry that quiet with me all day long.

I read once that the ancient Egyptians had fifty words for sand & the Eskimos had a hundred words for snow. I wish I had a thousand words for love, but all that comes to mind is the way you move against me while you sleep & there are no words for that.

In the end, I think that I will like that we were sitting on the bed, talking & wondering where the time had gone.

Someday, the light will shine like a sun through my skin & they will say, What have you done with your life? & though there are many moments I think I will remember, in the end, I will be proud to say, I was one of us.

Tomorrow, Saturday, I’ll be posting some of the books (wonderful books) I used to put together some of these exercises, and samples of poetry.

I’ll also be posting the cocktail blog on Sunday, and using a selection of poems and the inspiration! Stay tuned… and thirsty!